


the thirty-seventh hour

by siximpossiblethings



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Love/Hate, st. enjonine's day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 02:46:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1209853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siximpossiblethings/pseuds/siximpossiblethings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"she really, really, really can’t stand him, with his hair that he never bothers to really brush and his seemingly deep as mariana’s trench closet, filled only with red clothing of all different shades. she hates how he looks good in them, too."</p>
            </blockquote>





	the thirty-seventh hour

**Author's Note:**

> author's note: this is my (late) submission for st. enjonine's day! this was for a prompt by hannah (lesbianmisunderstood on tumblr). i severely apologize this is so late; i've had tons of internet problems lately and could only post this today! i poked a bit of fun at myself in this, at least i like to think so. i haven't written anything for e/e in ages -- not since last june. i had fun writing this so enjoy and have a happy (belated) valentine's day! i hope you all get every box of now on-sale chocolate you can get your hands on.
> 
> warning(s): mentions of sex and a brief mention of smoking

_"I will watch you rise on my back from the ground_  
Friend or foe?  
I don't know  
Do you like what you've found?"  
-All in White" by The Vaccines

* * *

 

If Eponine could shrink the city and everything in it, she is sure Enjolras’ ego would still be the biggest thing inside it.

“Have I told you lately that you give me a headache?” she says with the corner of her mouth twisting.

She really, really, really can’t stand him, with his hair that he never bothers to really brush and his seemingly deep as Mariana’s Trench closet, filled only with red clothing of all different shades.

She hates how he looks good in them, too.

“Only every day ending in ‘Y’,” he retorts with something that could be a grin on his lips.

They’re not together -- not really and not in the technical sense. Eponine runs a hand through her black hair. The straight locks puff up around her fingers and fall back easily. She puts her feet up and the long fingernails that have been growing for longer than she’d like to admit pick at her tights.

“You know what yesterday was?” she says, her mouth in a thin line. Her face may not move, but her voice lets Enjolras know that’s she’s smirking on her lips.

He doesn’t look up right away. Enjolras’ gaze floats just above the page of his book, giving Eponine the satisfaction of knowing that she can make him sweat (in more ways than one).

“Cat got your tongue, blondie?” she teases. Eponine chews her bottom lip and watches Enjolras as he combs through his brain -- and he’s got a big one, too -- for whatever it could have been that he missed.

She doesn’t let him flounder for too long, though. Even she’s not that cruel.

“What’s the date, idiot?”

His mouth forms an ‘O’ shape as he comes to the realization that today is February 15th.

“It was Valentine’s Day,” he says. But as soon as the look of sudden clarity is on his face, it’s replaced by a look of complete confusion.

“Valentine’s Day; that’s a couple thing, if I’m correct.” Enjolras clears his throat and looks up towards Eponine with a look on his face that she’s sure she’s only seen on dogs that have gone into the vet’s office for intestinal pain.

“Doesn’t have to be,” Eponine says. She can’t help but smile at this point.

“We’re not a couple, last time I checked.” He’s biting his cheek now, his eyes following the curves of her legs.

Eponine doesn’t reply right away. She notices his gaze and flashes a toothy grin. “We’ve got the perks of being one, though.” Standing up, she walks over to Enjolras’ seat. Eponine deftly takes the book out of his hand and places it on the table besides him. She then sits down on his lap, straddling his thighs with her legs.

“Wouldn’t you say?” she says, finishing her thought.

Enjolras licks his lips and a smokey grim forms on his face. “Yeah, I’d say.”

They start the way they normally do -- lots of kissing, a bit of biting, and slowly undressing. But something about this time makes it different.

Maybe it’s the way Eponine doesn’t try to stifle her moans, or the way Enjolras doesn’t flinch away from holding onto her tight. It’s intimate, which is something brand new for them. But they both silently agree that they like it. Neither one knows it, but they’ll take intimate over raunchy any day.

Afterwards, they stay with each other for a while. Eponine can feel the heat radiating off of Enjolras and she curls up into him, as if the closer she gets to him, the easier things will be after she leaves his bed.

She knows she’s supposed to hate him. He’s such a douche, so completely wrapped up in his own savior complex that he can barely see who is standing right in front of him. She knows that he’s only a fuck buddy, someone who she could dig her nails into, get right into his flesh. If Eponine wanted to, she knows she could suck the marrow right out of his bones and leave nothing left.

For a man who claimed to be some sort of sun god (at least not too loudly), Enjolras is hard to look away from. He hurts Eponine’s eyes to look at, but she can’t help herself.

She hopes he crashes and burns himself out in a way, but Eponine can’t help but feel like Icarus whenever she’s with him. She soars too high and knows that the wax of her feathers will melt.

Dammit, she’ll need a cigarette after this.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Ep.” His voice is raspy and dark, the way he always gets after they sleep together. In most cases, it only sets her off for another round. (God, she hates sex terminology.) But today, it only makes her smile and press a kiss to his mass of curls.

Or she’ll need a whole carton. Whatever reaches her bony fingers first.

“Happy Valentine’s Day to you, too, you dummy.”

No, they’re not a couple. But whatever it is they are, Eponine hates that she wants to be a little more.


End file.
